


Haphephobia

by Die4Upshur



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Caustic - Freeform, English is not my native language, Fear of Death, Gen, Haphephobia, Lifeline and Mirage just passed by, headcanons, revenant just doesn't like being touched, so I'm very sorry for any mistakes, too many references on human rev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Die4Upshur/pseuds/Die4Upshur
Summary: Revenant died again and it didn't make him any easier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	Haphephobia

**Author's Note:**

> It started as a small idea on Twitter, and then I got such a good comments that I burst into tears and decided to make a fic out of it. Many thanks to Tommy and Brisy for their support. Without them, I would never post this. Love you guys

"You've been touched by death so many times, simulacrum" Caustic says, and in the silence of the bunker, the shot sounds deafening.

It's stupid. It's terribly stupid to die like this, leaving your team, because self-confidence in your own rightness and victory always drowned out common sense. Why would he need two dead weights if he's the best assassin in the Outlands, right? Oh, but the best assassin was a human, the man with blue eyes and blond hair. It seems that he died more than three hundred years ago. It's not nice to take credit for someone you're not.

But if he died long ago, and you're just a machine, a pile of metal, programmed to kill, why does the gas of that mad scientist, who has an unhealthy desire to dissect and study you, cause your lungs to burst apart while you writhe in agony on the floor, cursing your inattention?

That guy, the one with blue eyes, would never allowed it, that guy would have fought to the last, snatching his life out of someone else's clutches hands at any cost. But he died, and your life is not worthy of such a struggle.

The effect of the gas ends, and from the slowly vanishing smoke coming out Dr. Nox. Wingman glitters in his hands. Your teammates are far away. Who would ever think about saving a selfish bastard like you? And when the cold gun touches your forehead, you realize that this is the end. Another one, just like thousands of others.

Your fingertips begin to tremble, and the world around is like jelly, slow and frozen.

Death. It's not new to you, so take a deep breath and accept it with dignity. But somehow you're still scared, still shivering, as if this is the first time, as if there weren't thousands just like this before.The peace-loving Hammond Robotics have granted you immortality without thinking about consequences for a weak human mind. And maybe you are still a pitiful human who is afraid of this immortality, afraid to the point of trembling in your limbs and nausea rising in your throat.

But you will not show your fear to anyone, keeping mask of a cold-blooded killing machine. They should be afraid of you, they should see you as death. They don't need to know about that man with blue eyes who die three centuries ago.

The sound of gunshot is deafening.

It's dark on the other side, and the smell of rot is everywhere. There's a metallic taste of blood on the tip of your tongue, like a dirty coin in your mouth. Gently touch your forehead. Wingman's close shot are no better than Kraber. Fucking scientist.

Something gently touches your leg, making you flinch and take a step back. Now they grab your arm, then your shoulder, and hold on to the red scarf in a death grip.

Lifeline said that you have haphephobia after Mirage grabbed your arm in a burst of joy of victory and raised it into the air. You pulled it back so hard that you could have easily torn off a trickster's limb. You didn't like being touched.

You wanted to run away from their touch, and once you did: sit in the shower for five hours, washing away the phantom feeling that their hands were still on you.

The scientists preferred to ignore the fact that anesthesia worked poorly. You got haphephobia three hundred years ago.

There is darkness around you and you feel the touch of a thousand hands that push you to the light, to a life so unbearable and unloved, full of suffering and pathetic self-flagellation.

Every new death only drags you deeper into the madness.

There is a shout in another warehouse.


End file.
